


What Dreams May Come

by sagesiren



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Awake (TV) Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Lots of Angst, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), eventual Harry/Eggsy - Freeform, eventual age gap pairing, we're getting there folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27664243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagesiren/pseuds/sagesiren
Summary: Everything fades to black. He wakes up.The world goes dark. He wakes up.Eggsy finds himself living in two different realities, switching between them each time he falls asleep. He doesn't know which one he wants to be real.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	What Dreams May Come

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off the idea of the show Awake, and is going to be chock full of angst, but will eventually be Harry/Eggsy! 
> 
> Not Brit-picked or beta'd, all mistakes are mine.

It takes two days to sort out all of Valentine’s prisoners in the end, with a combination of rudimentary medical knowledge, enough amnesia darts to convince them of whatever story Merlin's concocted, and every remaining Kingsman agent - not currently in deep cover and who still has a head connected to their body - working in tandem to get them back to their respective countries.

And Eggsy is tired. In fact, he's sure he's never been more tired in his life. Basic and Kingsman training had taught him to function on just a few hours of sleep, if that, but the post saving-the-world-adrenaline-rush crash already had him kipping in one of the booths not covered in colorful brain matter, between entertaining the prisoners and gossiping with the other agents.

After the last dignitary - or royal, or rich arse; Eggsy has stopped trying to tell them all apart - boards the last jet, Merlin steps around the wreckage of the main antechamber slash reception room where Bors is rifling behind the bar. “If you aren’t otherwise occupied,” he starts, in the tone that makes Roxy straighten from picking through what's left of the rubble, “we need to conduct a thorough search of the facility. Preliminary sweeps suggest storage and luxury bunkers, but I expect every millimeter of the sub floors to be examined over the course of the day.”

Bors sets the lone surviving bottle of gin he’s found on the bar and straightens his suit with a nod, while Roxy, ever the professional, continues to stand at attention. "Specific assignments for us, Sir?"

Eggsy reaches for the bottle. It's going to be a long day.

"Bors, you take Sub-level 1; Lancelot, S2; Eggsy, S3. And leave the liquor."

“Oi, I did just save the world. I think I could get a few sips of something in first,” Eggsy argues, though he's already giving his suit a tug to straighten it. It's been a few days and he's starting to feel - and smell - rank, but the suit's holding up as if he's just brought it home from the cleaner's.

Merlin rolls his eyes. "You pulled a few triggers." He reaches for the bottle and tucks it under his arm once Eggsy hands it over. "You'll get some of this when you're done submitting your reports."

Bors gives Eggsy's shoulder a playful bump. They've barely worked together, barely spoken, but he's always gotten a good feeling from the guy who looks more like a big, buff teddy bear or professional wrestler than a trained killer and ammunitions expert. 

The thing about villain bunkers carved out of mountainsides is that they're fucking _cold,_ and if it weren't for the special insulation of the Kingsman suit, Eggsy thinks he’d have turned blue by now. His fingers are already aching from the chill. He rubs them together and huffs a breath on them before prying open the top of another box labeled with a serial number. 

"It's canned goods galore here," Bors says over comms. "Seems like he was prepared to keep everyone here for some time if the plans went south in a different way."

"The luxury suites have only basic personal hygiene equipment," Roxy adds. "Perhaps he thought it would take a few days for the attacks to finish, or for the effects to wear off?"

There's a flicker on Eggsy's glasses as Merlin flits through their different feeds, the squares of Bors’ and Roxy’s view each illuminated in the corner of his vision, growing slightly when they speak. If he wanted to get a better look through their eyes, he could flick his hand, make it full-screen on his glasses, but they aren’t seeing anything more interesting than he is. Merlin seems to agree, and goes back to dealing with the Swiss authorities.

"That's all more exciting than this load of junk," Eggsy points out, letting the top of the crate fall to the floor. "Just extra chips in here."

"Hold on, Eggsy, those are different from the one you… retrieved from Arthur." Roxy's voice holds a hint of disgust, and the fact that he knows it's more over the betrayal than him digging it out of Arthur's head with a pen makes Eggsy love her all the more. 

"Different colour, larger in shape," Merlin notes, popping back in. "Good find, Lancelot."

"You want me to grab any?" He picks one up, turns it around in front of his glasses for Merlin to get a good look. "Can you detect anything?"

Bors whistles. "Bigger size might mean older model. Think about mobiles; takes time to make tech small, eh, Merlin?"

"Quite. Eggsy, bring in a handful, and be careful with your handling of them. They may be primed to explode on a different frequency than the planted ones we set off."

"Roger that." He tucks a few in his pocket and stands, massages some blood through his scalp, and wrinkles his nose at the way his hair is starting to feel greasy under his fingers. He reckons he might ask for a few minutes to hop into one of the showers in the luxury suites if they’re there for another day or more. "S3's secure, nothing else—"

A siren cuts through the air, amplified three times over for hearing it through the glasses of the other agents.

"I think I tripped an alarm in one of the suites," Rox says, her voice frantic as it cuts through the noise. "There must have been a fingerprint sensor I missed."

"Sit tight." Merlin's voice is low amidst the sound of tapping. "I'm in the system now."

Eggsy leans back against the wall and yawns. "Take your time, bruv."

Bors laughs and keeps working, his experience clear in how little he sounds bothered.

The lights go out. A mechanical hiss sounds, and the door to the room he's in clicks shut. 

"Er, Merlin? What the hell did you do?"

"Not sure. You all should be fine on oxygen until I figure this out."

"I wasn't concerned about oxygen until you said that."

Merlin huffs into the comms, but says nothing else.

Eggsy moves toward the steel door to try and open it while the night vision on his glasses boots up. He runs his hand over it, looking for anything that might be a manual override, and finds a catch. "Think this is something?" 

"I wouldn't touch anything," Roxy says. "Valentine was paranoid. Wait for Merlin to take care of it."

Eggsy pulls the latch anyway. "Worth a shot," he shrugs when it does nothing, then slides down against the door to take a proper nap this time, alarm be damned, and dream about his bed. Or even a warm floor; he'd take a coarse rug over the stone of the cave.

His eyes are closed for a few seconds when there's another sound, this one high pitched and rattling. He thinks it might be the door opening before his pocket starts to heat up and he realizes it's coming from the box. "Merlin, what’s—"

A few things happen all at once: the lights come back on, colour bursts out from the box, Merlin shouts something he can't hear.

Everything fades to black.

* * *

He wakes up. 

There’s beeping, cool and stale air that carries the smell of antiseptic. He’s been in this hospital before, maybe even this room. If his head wasn’t pounding so much he might be able to narrow it down to the exact injury Dean had inflicted on him.

“Eggsy?” his mum says, and he blinks slowly, awareness seeping back along with a few important facts, the first of which being that he's in hospital instead of Medical at HQ. They must have brought him there once he was stabilised so she could visit. Fuck, how long had he been out?

“Mum?” he says, and his voice is raspy. He starts to sit up and she stops him with a hand on his shoulder, yellowing bruises peeking out from behind her hair. The heart monitor spikes as his blood goes cold, his first thought - _Dean_ \- making him clench his fists, but she looks good, better than, really, and he thinks the money he’s been getting to her must be making some difference. “You alright?” He reaches up, pushes her hair back, and sees her eyes watering. “Don’t gotta cry for me, I’m alright, yeah?”

“You’re the one that’s been sleeping for days,” she says, in the warm sort of tone he only ever got from her before his dad died. “This is the worst of it, you got it bad yourself from those men that jumped you.”

Right, Valentine’s Day Massacre, and all that. Of course that's what Kingsman says happened to him. He can't help his smile, though, despite the way she’s looking at him like he’s out of his mind. "But you’re okay? You look happy.”

“Happier now you’re awake.” She covers his hand, still on her cheek, with hers. “Your father feels so guilty for not being around. He’s been beside himself, but I think you two’s would have gone after each other, instead of you fighting anyone who came by the door to the flat.” 

Eggsy’s face is only just starting to screw up - when the fuck has she ever referred to Dean as his father? And why is he still in the picture after Eggsy’s been working his arse off, throwing himself out of planes and almost drowning and sneaking away to hide money in his mum’s things without getting spotted - when there’s a soft knock on the door. He looks over.

Standing there, looking as perfect and kind as every waking dream Eggsy’s ever had of him, is Lee. 

“Who the fuck are you _?_ ” Eggsy shouts, scrambling back in bed. He reaches for something, anything, and only finds a vase of flowers from the table by his bed. He’s ready to chuck them at this fucking _imposter_ pretending to be his dad, but his mum grabs his arm, and a girl toddles out from behind not-Lee’s legs, and it’s not Daisy, but it looks like her, almost—a version of her with brighter eyes, cleaner hair, and an outfit that looks like she’s worn it home from the store with how fresh it is. “Where’s Daisy?”

“Gracie?” not-Lee asks, and lifts the girl. She melts against him in the easy way Daisy never had with Dean; she’d always take a few minutes to settle, to fully relax, if she even got to that point. She had that with everyone after living for two years in a world where the people who were supposed to take care of her would sometimes disappear, often throw things, even more often shout. This kid has none of that, and starts to talk some little kid nonsense, way more than Daisy ever could, as if she were born watching fucking Sesame Street. “Your sister? She’s right here. It’s alright, love,” Lee says, and rubs the girl's back, and Eggsy can feel it, can remember what that's like from one of the few memories he has of his father, from a night when he couldn’t sleep, when Lee walked him around their flat, rubbing his back, telling him it was all gonna be alright.

He used to lie in bed at night with a pillow pressed against his back, trying to recreate it.

The last time he'd done it, Dean caught him, and didn’t even know why he was doing it, but could tell it was something comforting, something that made Eggsy feel safe. He’d used the belt, left welts so bad Eggsy’d had to sleep on his stomach for a month.

His mum pulls his fingers back one by one, and Eggsy lets her in his shock, lets her take the vase and set it down again to the staccato of his heart beeping on the machine. He processes the sight of the vase, realises it’s filled the flowers in it are white daisies. His stomach lurches.

“That’s your father,” Michelle says, and her voice is shaking. That, at least, that fear is familiar. “Lee, he doesn’t remember.”

Eggsy smooths his hands out, presses them flat to his legs.

“The doctors said he might have some memory trouble, love,” Lee murmurs to his wife, with all the genuine love Eggsy never heard in Dean’s voice. Lee looks hesitant as he comes closer, too, sitting on the bed and setting the girl, Gracie, down on it. She starts climbing up Eggsy's torso for a cuddle, and his arms go around her automatically, her weight and size feeling right, though she’s shorter than Daisy by at least an inch. Her shampoo is the same as it should be, he thinks, the bright of artificial strawberries, and he can picture the bright red container it's in...

His thoughts screech to a halt. Daisy’s hair never smelled like candy strawberries. Somewhere, buried deep down, he’s got memories of this girl that isn’t his sister. Somewhere, deep down, he might have missed her.

Her little foot snags a bruise on his torso—ah, no, more like a broken rib the way it sends a shockwave through him. Eggsy winces, but doesn’t move Gracie, used to taking pain for the toddler he loves, and he does love her, this stranger. He feels it in his bones. He’d know that, anywhere. 

“You’re hurting him, baby,” his mum says, and holds out her arms. Gracie sticks her thumb in her mouth and lets Michelle lift her from the bed. 

Whatever kind of fucked up dream this is, Eggsy decides right then and there to enjoy it, because he can’t remember the last time his mum paid that much attention to him or his sister. And yeah, maybe he’s getting close to the point of forgiving her for that, maybe he knows now that in her own way she was trying to protect them by keeping Dean occupied, and they Kingsman don't pay their therapists hundreds of thousands of pounds a year for nothing. But he feels he deserves this.

And if he gets that, _and_ his dad - alive, breathing, fucking _perfect_ \- on top of it? He’ll take it. No questions asked. “It's so good to see you, dad,” he says to Lee.

His mum must have stealth-pressed the call button, because a nurse comes in, and his pulse speeds as he thinks he might lose this. She hasn’t even touched the painkillers they’ve got him on yet, but he’s already feeling exhausted from being awake.

A concussion, probably.

Not that he should have a concussion in his dream. 

Lee takes his hand, gives it a gentle squeeze. “We’ve time for all of that, Eggsy. You just rest now.”

Eggsy clearly takes it to heart, half conscious now as he is. He smiles as he starts to doze off and doesn't hear what the nurse has to say, too content as he sinks into the starchy hospital pillows and the world goes dark.

* * *

He wakes up.

“Mum?” Eggsy mumbles, shifting in the bed.

“Not quite,” a Scottish voice greets him. Eggsy winces, opens his eyes. 

“Fuck off, I was dreaming.”

“You’d better have been dreaming you were the King of bloody England with the quality of painkillers you’ve got coursing through you right now.”

His head pounds as he sits up. “Something like that. How long was I out?”

Merlin taps at his clipboard, not yet looking at him. “Eighty-six hours. The flowers are from Lancelot.” He tips his head toward the side table.

Pale pink roses sit in the gaudiest crystal vase Eggsy's ever seen on the table next to his bed. “She trying to woo me or something?”

“I hear it’s a joke. Roses of this colour represent grace, which, had you not lacked, you might have been able to dive out of the way of the blast. Or, better yet, not tried the fucking door and gotten yourself burnt to a crisp from that chemical compound.” 

Eggsy snorts. Leave it to Roxy to get him something thoughtful and insulting. 

Merlin raises his eyebrows and crosses his legs in one smooth motion. “How are you feeling?”

“Like some megalomaniac’s shite blew up in my face.”

“You look it. You should be back on your feet soon, but we’ll need you to write everything you remember for your report, and then go over it with a therapist. I assume you’ll want to see Dr. Meyer again for this?”

Eggsy hums, gazing at the flowers. He’s trying to hang onto the mental image of his dad, of his mom without such bags under her eyes, of the kid Daisy might’ve been if she’d gotten two parents that looked after her. He loves Daisy more than life itself, but sometimes he hates his mum for the way she's behind, for setting Daisy up to struggle by not helping her the ways she should’ve.

Sometimes he hates himself for leaving when Daisy did most of her developing, even if staying around might’ve meant getting himself killed by Dean. 

“...Eggsy?” Merlin is leaning forward, all focus on him, when Eggsy finally turns toward him. 

He rubs at his neck. “Sorry, what?”

“I said we took a vote while you were dreaming.”

Eggsy sits himself up more, the rest of the dream slipping away, water through his fingers. “Wait, was that—was it _the_ vote? What happened?”

Merlin holds up a folder (most likely full of the You’re-Fired and Don’t-Tell-A-Soul-Or-We’ll-Kill-You paperwork for him to fill out), drops it on Eggsy’s lap. “Congratulations, lad.”

At the top of the folder, written in neat black block letters, is _Galahad._ His new code name.

He swallows, reaches for the glass of water he knows Merlin put out for him, and takes a long sip. Getting that name, this _job_ , means he doesn’t have to worry about how he’s gonna feed or look after Daisy and his mum, means he can go home and kick the shite out of Dean with the agency’s protection, and probably their permission. He can set them up in a house out of the estates, find the best fucking nursery program for Dais, finally take her to the doctors he knows she’s gotta see that his mum either doesn’t realise she needs, or doesn't want to hear the truth from.

It also means that all the surviving agents agree Harry is long gone. So, if he tears up a little, it’s fine. He’s an agent now. That’s all that matters.

He sniffs hard, wipes his nose with the back of his un-bandaged hand, and accepts the pen that Merlin gives him.

“Never had a practice report as long as this,” he says, the pen between his lips as he dumps the contents of the folder onto the sheets covering his legs.

“It’s your intake paperwork, too. I’ll leave you to it.” Merlin stands. “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. You can reach me with your mobile, or through the glasses—that is your official pair, now, and I expect you to treat them as you would any other expensive computer.” 

Eggsy looks up and away from the novel-length packet he’s got to fill out when Merlin doesn’t move, or say anything else, thinking he’s waiting for something. “I ain’t gonna break ‘em. Cross my heart.”

Merlin touches Eggsy’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Eggsy. He would be, too.”

His throat thickens up again. He knows Merlin means Harry, but he thinks of Lee, then, sitting on the bed, holding his hand. It isn’t much, but he can still feel the warmth of it, measure for measure with all the sting he feels from the last things he'd said to Harry.

“Yeah,” he says, and clears his throat with a weak cough. “Thanks, Merlin. I should get to it.”

“Good lad. I expect that paperwork no later than midnight.”

Eggsy is fairly sure Merlin’s joking, considering he’s still hooked up to a machine and probably has a concussion in addition to the burns covering his skin from everywhere the chip goo landed, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

His eyes start to close two pages in.

* * *

He wakes up. 

The heart monitor beeps. Eggsy's on his side, and his chest is aching at the position. The first sight that greets him is the vase at his bedside, and in it, a slightly wilted bouquet of white daisies.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear any thoughts! This is my first Kingsman fic :)


End file.
